


I can't give you the sunset ( I can give you the night )

by Niahara_Erskine



Series: Tales from the Primordial Soup [2]
Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Angst, Curios Death - also sort of, Don't tell me they don't meet up in BC years, Drabble, Ficlet, Gen, I have no idea what this is folks, Introspection, Meta, Sympathetic War - sort of, The horsepeople of the Apocalypse totally talk to each other, Those years were definitely their playground, Tragedy, warfare
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-13
Updated: 2018-05-13
Packaged: 2019-05-06 07:57:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 613
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14637474
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Niahara_Erskine/pseuds/Niahara_Erskine
Summary: It was still early, a time of chaos and upheaval when War still stood naked and defiant, an entity of unrelenting chaos that wished to sweep humanity of its feet. When Death still walked the lands, a haunting specter ever present at the corner of humanity's eyes. It was still early when they met again, their whispered words almost silenced by the tumult of war echoing at their side.





	I can't give you the sunset ( I can give you the night )

**Author's Note:**

  * For [DeyaniraSan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DeyaniraSan/gifts).



The child lay cradled in Death’s arms, body battered and pale, bones sticking out in odd directions. Its labored gasps signaled the end, yet the ancient entity kept muttering to him, gentle whispers of sweet nothings that would never come to pass, idle promises broken as easy as all things got broken in such times.

Next to him, War stood silent, the ever-present grin on her face dulled to a dark frown as her long fingers tangled gently in the child’s blood matted hair. It was still early, and she was still young, young and tempestuous like the sea, a naked entity of unrelenting chaos that wished to sweep humanity of its feet.

But not like this…

“So wasteful,” she spat, fingers clenching more powerfully than she had wished, eliciting a whimper from the dying child, a half-bitten cry that was shushed by Death in the following moment. “So wasteful and for what. This is not War, this is sacrifice.”

Behind them the tempest of battle roared, swords clashing upon swords, shields upon shields, sandal clad feet beating a drum in the cracked earth as they fell one upon them other, most barely children taller than their mother’s knees.

“I thought you would be pleased. This is, after all, what you herald.” Death pointed out casually, his arms falling heavy as the child sagged even further in them, the last puff of breath escaping bloodied lips. “Chaos and upheaval. Turmoil and disaster. The murder of another child gave birth to you after all.”

“Abel was no child,” she scoffed. “He was a man. A young one at that and perhaps undeserving of his fate, but such matters are not mine to judge nor do I care about them. His blood was spilled upon the land and I woke. But this? Children playing at war and men cutting them down. They think themselves heroes, protecting their realms. They think themselves valiant, fighting for their God. Fools.”

“If they are fools why did you bring him to me? You could have left him on the battlefield.”

“Stupid little human,” War scoffed but her eyes were gentle, and her lips turned into a sad smile as she placed a soft kiss on the dead child’s forehead. “Foolish, foolish little human. He saw me for who I was. Even as he lay broken and dying he saw me for who I was and asked if he had done well. If he had made God proud.”

“And what did you tell him?” Death’s tone remained as neutral as before, but a curious tilt echoed in his cavernous voice, the barest whisper of intrigue lingering in the air.

“I told him that he had made me proud. That he could never have won. That I was not on their side and it was useless of them to even think they could defeat me. That it was cruel and unfair. But that despite it all I was proud, even if when he met Him, God would not be. Grown up, he would have been amazing. But even as a child, he was mine. He smiled at me before he fell to oblivion.”

“I see,” Death nodded, lying down his small charge at the bottom of an olive tree. The child looked peaceful despite his broken and emancipated body, finally at ease as he had not been in life. “What will you do now, War?”

“End all this. It has gone for far too long and I tire of it.”

She left, without another word, scarlet hair shimmering in the dying sun, and a cherub’s sword held tightly in her grasp as she walked back to the battlefield she had created.


End file.
